


The Best Ones Always Have Your Back

by re_ishi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A lot of them - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Band Break Up, Band Fic, Blackmail, Emotional Manipulation, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Happy Ending, Internal Conflict, Katsuki Yuuri-centric, M/M, Manipulation, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, References to Canon, but they work it out, more than friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 18:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13487388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/re_ishi/pseuds/re_ishi
Summary: After an audition gone wrong, Katsuki Yuuri resigns himself to a lifetime of juggling side jobs and gigs at bars. Two years later, Yuuri gets a second shot at being a part of Stammi Vicino, whose lead singer happens to be none other than world-renowned vocalist Victor Nikiforov.or:Two years after a scandal that shocked the music industry, Victor Nikiforov decides to steel his heart and move on. But what starts as a business partnership soon blossoms into something more. With the ghosts of his past coming back to haunt him, Victor can't help but wonder if the young Japanese man is what he needs to make music again.





	The Best Ones Always Have Your Back

“Yuuri, please just consider this. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Phichit pleaded. Even though they were on the phone, Yuuri could just picture his friend’s pout and puppy eyes, the mental image conjuring up automatically, a side-effect of being on the receiving end on of it for years.

“I don’t know, Phichit,” Yuuri replied, busying himself with getting the scoresheet out of his bag. The peak hour jam had made him arrive five minutes later than usual and the slight frenzy in his usual pace of getting ready had thrown him uncomfortably off-balance.

“Yuuri-kun, you’re up in ten!” Itou-san, the manager of his favourite bar called from somewhere down the hallway.

“Okay, thank you!” Yuuri called back, pulling his phone away from his ear as he did.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, are you still there? Did you hear what I just said? You can’t miss this chance again. I spoke to Yakov, and he said he doesn’t mind giving you an audition before releasing it to the public. It is, I repeat, a once in a lifetime opportunity -”

“- I’m sorry Phichit, I have to go up soon, I’ll call you back,” he shot back into the receiver, tossing his phone into his bag, before scooping it up and throwing it into his designated locker. The rusty metal shut with a bang, and then Yuuri was making his way down the hallway, his sheet music secured against his side as he squeezed a generous amount of gel and smoothed his hair back.

The soothing tunes of jazz music became increasingly audible as Yuuri neared the door leading to the bar, where Itou-san greeted him with a smile.

“Just in time,” the woman grinned, giving his outfit a one-up and then nodding excitedly. “You look perfect as always. The patrons will love you!” She beamed, then added with a sly grin, “he made me promise not to tell you, but Mark over there literally begged me for your shifts. Of course I didn’t tell him, so he’s been showing up all week, just for a chance to see you.”

Yuuri flushed under all that information, letting out a nervous laugh. The bar manager was never one to keep secrets, and Yuuri had heard too many things about her patrons. A social butterfly like her meant she knew many things. Naturally that meant Yuuri could no longer at many regulars in the same light.

But under all that, Yuuri knew the woman was just trying to be friendly. Minako-san had introduced him to her, and Yuuri had a feeling his mentor had all but filled her in about Yuuri’s pre-performance nerves. He knew Itou-san was just doing her best to calm his nerves, which surfaced occasionally even though Yuuri had been working at the bar for three years by now. 

Light applause broke him out of his thoughts as the saxophonist bowed and made his way off stage. He headed straight towards the wooden hanging doors, and bypassed them with a polite nod which Yuuri returned.

“All right, Yuuri-kun, you’re up,” Itou-san said encouragingly, patting him gently on the back. Then she left, probably towards the kitchen from which Yuuri caught a faint whiff of smoke when he passed it earlier.

Now alone and waiting as his act was announced, Yuuri rolled his shoulders a few times and craned his neck, loosening his muscles per his usual routine before a performance. As he took a deep breath in, he could feel the familiar rush of adrenaline settling in his bones.

Three years had passed and still, he would never get sick of the sense of satisfaction from watching the patrons sway gently to the sound of his voice as they went about their business, sharing glasses and stories. It was fulfilling in a way that his monthly pay wasn’t, but that very sense of satisfaction was what kept him going.

Idly his mind registered the soft applause from the small crowd that had gathered below the stage as the spot before the microphone stand was left empty and inviting. Yes, this was what he loved best, captivating the audience with his voice.

With that thought in mind, Yuuri strolled past the hanging doors and took the stage.

 

* * *

 

By the time Yuuri reached home, it was two hours past midnight, half an hour later than usual. Knowing that Yuuri was the last performer had spurred the crowd before the stage to chant encore, and soon almost all the guests in the bar had joined in. Yuuri had no choice but to agree to a few more songs, not that he did so unwillingly.

Itou-san’s bar would always have a soft spot in Yuuri’s heart. It was his first major gig after graduating and his regular performances there were what caught the eye of other potential employers. It was what sparked the beginnings of his career, and Yuuri would never have it in him to deny the regulars there.

Yawning, he threw himself onto the couch, maneuvering his bag around his body until he was hugging it. He let his eyelids flutter shut, mind running through the list of things he would have to do.

_Remove makeup, check schedule for tomorrow, set alarms, feed Phichit’s hamsters…_

_Phichit!_ Yuuri’s eyelids snapped open, hands rummaging through his bag for his phone. Only bits and pieces of their conversation from early had registered, but Yuuri could tell from Phichit’s tone of voice then that whatever had him calling ten minutes before Yuuri’s shift must have been important.

Unexpectedly, his phone screen lit up with a string of messages from Phichit, each one longer than the one before.

**Phichit:**

call me when you get home!!!!

you NEED to audition for our band yakov alr said okay

he needs a reply ASAP!!!

CALL ME

Yuuri’s head throbbed. He must be seeing things. Yakov… wasn’t that the manager of Phichit’s- Victor Nikiforov’s band?

He squinted at the blaring screen, scrolling down to the later messages. Varying lengths and variations of the first few greeted him.

Yuuri closed his eyes and leant back into the couch. If he pushed hard enough, he could almost feel the spring beneath the rough material. They’d probably have to buy a new one soon, but the money…

He let his head loll to the side, eyelids peeling open again. _No. Phichit. Messages_. He tapped his phone screen again, then a few times more but it remained stubbornly blank.

Sighing, Yuuri got up. The battery must have drained on the way in the uber. He vaguely recalled a flashing 5% remaining warning, and he’d left his portable at home while rushing out. 

His bed was the first thing that greeted him and Yuuri had to physically resist the urge to throw himself onto it, but not today. Not when his mind was whirling and trying to fit together the pieces of information Phichit had texted him.

Phichit had all but screamed at him over text to call him ‘ASAP’, his own words, and ‘band’ and ‘audition’?

Yuuri sighed. Could it be that Victor Nikiforov was looking for a backup singer again? It was unlikely, considering Stammi Vicino had just successfully completed the tour for their latest album with no hitches. The announcement last year had clamped down the last ray of hope of performing on the same stage as his idol, and Yuuri had all but resigned to a lifetime of gigs at rowdy bars and the like.

But so what if auditions were open? After his terrible tryout two years ago, Yuuri hadn’t dared to walk within a one kilometer radius of the company building. To say he messed up was an understatement. He’d sang off-tune, voice shaky and even teared towards the end.

Once word got out that Victor Nikiforov was hiring again, Phichit and Yuuri had all but jumped at the opportunity, and through Celestiano’s connections, managed to secure a slot each. They’d stayed up through the night, commenting on each other’s demos, and while Yuuri didn’t know much about guitar, he knew enough about Phichit’s skill to help him select and edit the best versions of the tune.

Yuuri had been so prepared for it, with backups of his demo and backups of backups all packed away in his bag when he and Phichit left their apartment for the studio. But then Mari called, and Vicchan…

He stopped his thoughts resolutely. He was _not_ going down that train today, not when he’d have to call Phichit soon. Knowing him, Phichit would probably freak and rush home and they didn’t need another speed ticket eating at their funds.

His phone beeped beside him, the charging symbol flashing 5%. The piercing red of the screen reminded him of the overhead light that flashed as he entered the studio those years ago, and performed what he had come to dub the worst audition of his life.

Yuuri would never forget the look of resignation on Victor’s face through the transparent screen of the studio, how his idol fiddled with something below the glass boundaries of the screen, his attention fixed on just about anything but Yuuri as he ran through his piece. If this had happened a day before, Yuuri would probably have spiralled into a breakdown right there and then, but the shock and pain that came with the news about Vicchan still lingered. Such that when Victor simply stood up and walked away halfway through his audition, Yuuri only numbly registered that fact. Till now Yuuri still shunned that memory like the plague; whether he continued singing or not was beyond the realms of what he allowed his mind to recall.

He’d been so lost in thought that he barely registered the sound of the main door swinging shut, only snapping out if it – literally – when a blur of bright orange rammed straight into him.

“ _Phichit_ , why do you always-” His complaint died at the tip of his tongue at the look on his roommate’s face.

“Katsuki Yuuri you were supposed to call me!” Phichit all but shrieked. “Do you have any idea the number of times I tried to call you? And all the texts! Don’t you know how important this is?”

Indignance brewed at the accusatory tone but Yuuri forced it down. “No, I mean yes, I was going to when I got home but my phone died.” He gestured at the device. “You called me right before my shift, Phichit. You know I can’t exactly speak to you when I’m singing.” The words spilled out before he could even register them, the exhaustion from performing still gnawing at his conscious.

Albeit too late, Yuuri winced internally at his retort, hoping Phichit wouldn’t take it to heart. That may have come out too strong. Phichit seemed to deflate at those words, understanding flashing across his features. But it lasted only a second because a moment later a grin split over his face again and he was gripping Yuuri by the shoulders, eyes sparkling with intensity.

“But you know why I called right?” He stared expectantly at Yuuri, who nodded at the expectant look on Phichit’s face.  

“Sort of, I think.”

“Good. Because Victor’s looking for a backup singer again-”

_So it was true._

“-and you’re going to audition for it tomorrow”

That, he didn’t know.

“Huh,” or at least a semblance of the word escaped his throat. But Phichit was already blabbering on, taking huge strides across the bedroom floor. “I showed your demo to the band, you know the one we did two years ago, and they helped convinced Yakov to let you give it a shot. I managed to rope Celestino in again, and Yakov said he’s willing to let you give it a try, so I set up an appointment at the studio. I checked your schedule and I know you don’t have anything going on tomorrow, so no escaping.”

_What?_

Phichit only smiled at what must have been the most dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Yuuri, we’re going to the Grand Prix.”

 

* * *

 

Phichit had said those exact words two years ago. The only difference was that at that time, Yuuri had actually been both mentally and physically prepared. He couldn’t say the same now.

He’d let Phichit go on with his rant about how ‘important this is’, what ‘an amazing opportunity’ this was, how he was sure Yuuri would ‘kickass’ and how it wouldn’t be like the last time. The last one had been said with a wince that they shared.

Then Yuuri thanked Phichit and locked himself in his room.

It only took one look for Phichit to understand, whatever he was about to say dying mid-sentence.

_Do you need some time alone?_

_Yes please_. 

And that was it.

Sometimes, Yuuri felt like he didn’t deserve Phichit. He’d showed up in Detroit, arms full of duffle bags filled to the brim with things his mom and Mari snuck in without him looking, and a few years older than everyone else in the block. And then Phichit exploded into his life in a series of late night pestering that gradually transitioned into late night bonding and movie marathons.

Yuuri had spent two decades of having an entire room to himself, and sharing a dorm meant carving a space for Phichit to fit into. Phichit had spent years in enclosed spaces with at least two other people at any time, and sharing a room – or more specifically, sharing a room with Yuuri – meant carving out a space in his life for Yuuri to slot into, undisturbed.

And then they graduated, but four years of living in each other’s presence had left its mark on both of them. They rented apartments with a fifteen-minute walk between them, and while Yuuri could always take a jog to Phichit’s, it just wasn’t the same. Silence settled in the spaces where Phichit had personally carved his presence into Yuuri’s life. It was unfamiliar and always left him feeling unsettled, especially in the evening which usually saw them in the dorm together, gossiping and cramming school projects. 

The silence lasted for a grand total of one week. Then Yuuri moved into Phichit’s place, which was bigger and had more bedrooms, and the unsettling feeling gradually faded as Phichit’s energy and laughter reclaimed its rightful place in the spaces between them.

And Phichit was always so good to Yuuri. Years of living together had Phichit picking up on Yuuri’s need for personal space, but also when to give him a push whenever Yuuri’s nerves refused to let him take a step forward in the direction where his heart and mind were telling him to.

And now, Yuuri knew rationally what he wanted to do. But wanting to do it and actually doing it were two vastly different things. The latter entailed Yuuri crossing an entire ocean of nerves that he’d been battling all his life and it wasn’t going to magically disappear now.

After his failure two years ago, Yuuri had thought that was it. Phichit had nailed the audition and successfully made a name for himself as the guitarist who managed to blend in with the band smoothly amidst the tension left behind by the previous member’s sudden departure. He was a Canadian by the name of Jean Jacques Leroy, who had all but claimed he had talent that could take him places much further than Stammi Vicino ever could. Or at least, according to almost every media outlet.

While Yuuri knew those articles could never be trusted, the slight air of arrogance the man carried in his interviews with the rest of the band and his tendency to speak over his fellow members certainly did not go unnoticed by Yuuri, much less the other more rabid fans.

He’d been so worried for Phichit, horrified at the spiteful words people so flippantly threw out that Yuuri almost considered hacking into Phichit’s phone and blocking all those trashy sites. But then a month passed, and Phichit had managed to charm almost every single one of those nasty fans, converting them into his own little army of worshippers. 

He doubted the world would fall in love with him as easily as they did with Phichit, but that was assuming he even got the role, and assuming Yuuri would somehow manage to overcome his nerves and get himself to the Grand Prix the next day. 

Going by how the raging swarm of butterflies in his abdomen had not only not ceased but instead intensified as his thoughts wandered, the chances of his nerves subsiding were very, very slim.

And yet, Yuuri wanted this so badly. Two years ago he’d thought the closest he would get to sharing a stage with Victor was his affiliation to his idol through Phichit: selfies with Yuuri next to Phichit’s welfies with the band on his Instagram, invitations to join the band for a meal whenever they were in town – though the thought that Victor might remember him from his audition always had Yuuri turning him down.

Then again, maybe this was the universe’s way of giving him a second chance, to live life the way he always dreamed, and perhaps, to make things right.

Who was Yuuri to say no to that?

 

* * *

 

The next day, Yuuri found himself standing before the glass doors of the Grand Prix building, Phichit’s firm grip on his arm the only thing reminding him that yes, this was real, yes, he was about to audition as backup singer for Victor Nikiforov’s band, and yes, this was happening. 

“Yuuri, breathe.”

Phichit’s hand kept him from bolting.

“You’ve wanted to do this since you were sixteen. You worked long and hard for this moment, we’ve gone through what will happen, there’s nobody more well-prepared than you,” Phichit said meaningfully, his grip on Yuuri just tightening knowingly, like he could read Yuuri’s mind.

“Phichit, I don’t think I can- ”

“We’re going in,” he announced with solemn finality.

The words died in his mouth and he could do nothing more as Phichit forcefully tugged him towards the glass doors of the Grand Prix.

Years ago he’d been fascinated by how grand and stunning the exterior of the building looked. Glass windows that spanned all the way to the top floor, vertical garden that lined its sides, and the words _Grand Prix_ in gold, cursive font that sprawled above the entrance to the first floor. 

Now, the polished glass had none of the shine he saw back then. If he were honest, it looked just like the living embodiment of hell’s gates. 

Through those gates, a receptionist greeted them from behind the counter, “Phichit! You’re early today.” A warm, familiar smile split across her face as she regarded them, “Is this the friend you talked about?” Her hair was gathered into a neat bun, her eyes a dark purple as she nodded at Yuuri.

It was unfair how everyone working here was so utterly beautiful. 

“Hey Sara, this is Yuuri,” Phichit said hurriedly, probably sensing Yuuri’s sudden reluctance. “Yakov’s expecting him in fifteen at our usual studio, so we’ll need a pass.”

“Sure thing,” the receptionist – Sara – seemed to light up at those years, typing away at her monitor before fishing out a lanyard attached to an identification pass. She handed it to Yuuri with a smile that he didn’t quite know what to make of.

“You’ve been the talk these past few days,” she laughed, fingers reaching up to cover her mouth prettily. “The band’s pretty excited to meet you, with Phichit gushing about you every hour. You don’t have to be so nervous, you know. Yakov, I mean, the man auditioning you might look scary at first, but that’s how he looks all the time, so if you think he’s mad at you, don’t worry he’s probably just thinking about something an artiste did to upset him.”

Yuuri managed a weak smile. Pep talks were probably not part of Sara’s job scope, and he appreciated the gesture though it did nothing to calm his nerves. He’d been in a daze the entire morning, mind only half-registering the whirlwind of activity that was Phichit hurrying him around.

He had hoped a good night’s sleep would help him come to terms with what was happening. But it hadn’t been a good night’s sleep, nor had it helped. If even Sara could sniff out his bad case of nerves, what more Yakov, or the rest of the band? 

He was mentally prepared for Yakov’s disapproving gaze... somewhat. But he was definitely not prepared for an audience of established and talented musicians. Before he could let that thought spiral though, Phichit was already pulling him towards the elevators, Yuuri muttering a quick 'thanks' to Sara.

"Okay Yuuri," Phichit said once the elevator doors shut with a 'ding'. His grip was firm on Yuuri's shoulders, intensity suddenly colouring his gaze in a manner that reminded him of their conversation the night before. "Yakov usually doesn't like it when people come with company, so I can't go in with you. You know the drill, right? He's just going to ask a few questions, and then he'll get you to sing along to a few of our songs- "

" -I pass him the demo, and I'm out," Yuuri finished. "I'll be fine, you don't have to worry." He flashed Phichit what he hoped looked like an easy smile just as a 'ding' announced Yuuri's floor.

"You sure you don't want me to come? I'm not technically a stranger, so Yakov might not mind. Or if you wanna be safe, I could always wait for you outside." Phichit's hand shot out to prevent the doors from closing, eyebrows knotted in concern.

_Yes, please come with me. I don't think I can do this alone. I'm afraid I'll screw up and embarrass myself in front of them again._

 "...No, it's fine. I know you have things to do." Yuuri felt anything but fine. He tried to not let it show though, squaring his shoulders and smiling that same smile again. It probably came out as a grimace but if Phichit noticed, he didn't comment. He stepped back and removed his hand, shouting 'Good luck!' which Yuuri returned with a thumbs up. Then the elevator doors closed and Yuuri was left alone again.

 _It's fine_ , he told himself, finally heading down the hallway. There were multiple studios along both sides of the walls, each one an exact replica of the one before it. His footsteps echoed on the dark marble floor, the sound bouncing off the walls and amplified in the narrow corridor.  _You've got this. Think of it as another one of your gigs._

He thought of Itou-san's bar, the kind regulars and soft background music that often played there. Then he pictured himself on stage, singing a ballad, a Christmas carol, an old classic. If he tried hard enough, Yuuri could almost convince himself that this was just another one of those easy performances, one where his nerves hardly made their appearance, and he wasn't required to sing in front of the man he'd looked up to for almost all his life.

Now, as he stood before the door that had **Yakov Feltsman, Producer** branded in black, bold font on a golden plague, Yuuri almost felt confident. Compartmentalizing his fears and anxieties always worked before any major performance. It wasn't going to fail him now.

He took a deep breath, loosening his muscles.

"What do you mean you can't make it on time!"

Yuuri froze, his hand stopping mid-action of knocking the door.

The angry voice of Yakov Feltsman continued, "Vitya, I reminded you last night about this audition. I want you to make your way here right now. The audition starts in ten minutes and I've seen you drive before!"

The speaker on the other side of the phone must have been replying, because the man was silent for a moment. Then rapid-fire Russian broke it, followed by a loud clatter and what must have been a string of curses.

Yuuri tensed outside the door, wondering if he should knock. He could still hear faint mumbling coming from the other side of the door, and he had no doubt the producer was in a very, very bad mood.

But it wasn't like he had a choice. He knocked the door thrice.

"Come in," the gruff voice replied.

The studio was simultaneously a dream come true and his worst nightmare. It was magnificent, with red velvet curtains and black screens. A transparent one separated the studio monitors from the microphone and loudspeakers, a sight that often haunted his mind in the days following his last audition here.  

But this audition would not be like last time. Yuuri was two years wiser and had two more years worth of experience performing and managing his pre-stage nerves. Now, if only he could make himself as confident as he looked.

"Good morning, Mr Feltsman. I'm Katsuki Yuuri, here to audition for the role of backup singer for Stammi Vicino. I believe Phichit has mentioned me..." he greeted, bowing slightly. He'd practised what to say with Phichit, learnt that the man disliked idle pleasantries and preferred getting straight to the point. Rumours spoke of Mr Feltsman turning away auditionees based on just their introductions alone. Phichit had waved it off but still, Yuuri would rather play it safe.

"Mr Katsuki," the man said simply, clasping Yuuri's hands in greeting. "I've heard many good things about you. I hope you will not disappoint." Yuuri nodded in acknowledgement, hoping his nerves wouldn't show as the man continued, "Unfortunately, we will have to start the audition without the presence of Victor. He had... last minute obligations and I have business to attend to after this."

Ah, an audition without Victor? It... was a good thing, Yuuri supposed. If Victor somehow remembered him as that one person who messed up and cried, Yuuri wasn't sure what he'd do.  _Probably combust on the spot and move back to Japan, never to step foot in Detriot again,_  his mind helpfully supplied.

"Ah... that's fine! We could go on ahead with the audition, I'm okay with that."

"Of course, it wasn't a question." Mr Feltsman cocked an eyebrow, then gestured towards the door alongside the transparent screen.

Yuuri disguised his wince with a cough. One minute in and he already managed to screw up. Cursing internally, Yuuri made his way into the recording studio, after which the producer ran through the songs he'd be singing to. 

The minutes seemed to pass by in a blur after that, Yuuri going through the band's songs, some recent and others old enough that only the most devoted of fans would know of. His voice started out a little shaky, but as the songs progressed, the familiar wave of confidence swept across him like a tide, settling in his shoulders. He knew he was doing well, if not from the adrenaline humming in his chest, then from the hints of a smile that the producer was hiding behind a thoughtful hand to his chin.

Relief surged through him at the sight. It was no secret that Yakov Feltsman was hard to impress - hundreds of aspiring artists travelled to the country just for a shot at performing before the man. And while the number of artists that managed to land a contract with him were far and few in between, those who actually debuted were known to see fame for as long as they wished, becoming legends of the industry that sold hit after hit.

Yuuri was just lucky he knew the right people. If not for Celestino - his university professor - back then and Phichit now, Yuuri knew there was just no way he'd ever get to meet the man in person. All the more why he had to absolutely nail this audition. This was his last shot, his last chance at finally fulfilling the dream he'd envisioned all those years ago, to stand on the same stage as Victor Nikiforov, as equals and make music together.

Music was his dream, his passion, and even if Yuuko hadn't introduced him to Victor Nikiforov back then, Yuuri was sure he would choose the exact same path he had chosen. But there was just something about the way Yuuri's voice blended with Victor's - warm, rich tones that reminded him of honey and home, and Yuuri's, of a slightly higher pitch that, according to Minako, could soothe the soul - that made Yuuri want this all the more.

With that thought in mind, he belted out the last notes of the song, a strong and steady melody that slotted itself right alongside Victor's baritone, an accompaniment to Victor's warm tunes. Yuuri had been singing solo all his life, at bars, weddings, and even in the lounge of Yuutopia where his parents would encourage him with soft pats to his back to entertain their guests. But years of listening and singing along to Stammi Vicino's songs had rendered Yuuri no stranger to the role of a backup singer, or more specifically Victor's backup singer.

He held the microphone in his hands, trembling slightly from the emotion exertion. The light chill that ran down his spine alerted him to the beads of perspiration that dotted his forehead. Hesitantly, he directed his gaze back to the screen he was facing, where light applause sounded from.

A smile broke across his face before he could help it.  _Good, Mr Feltsman liked him-_

Yuuri did a double take, eyes widening. Mr Feltsman was  _not_  clapping. Instead, beside him stood a tall man, with silvery hair that cascaded down the left side of his face and not a strand out of place. Yuuri would recognise that heart-shaped smile anywhere.

"Wow, that was amazing! I don't think I've ever seen an audition that good, wouldn't you agree, Yakov?" Victor Nikiforov chirped happily, resting one hand on the producer's shoulder, who shrugged it off instantly.

"V-Victor Nikiforov," Yuuri spluttered, mind racing with a million questions.

He had been prepared for Victor to sit in on the audition, but not this. Definitely not being told Victor Nikiforov would not make it, feeling relieved at that fact, and then realising that Victor Nikiforov had actually somehow snuck in without Yuuri realising it. 

"Hi there," said man smiled with a wave. "It seems introductions aren't necessary since you already know my name." 

_Was he kidding? Who didn't know his name!_

Yuuri swallowed, pushing down his sudden nerves. "My name is Katsuki Yuuri," he said with a slight bow. "I'm here auditioning for- "

" -yes, yes I know. I've heard many things about you." This, he punctuated with a wink that sent a shiver down Yuuri's spine. Yuuri had never felt so simultaneously fearful and relieved. 

"Actually... I believe we've seen enough." He raised a finger to his face, tapping his chin. But that same smile remained, his gaze running up and down Yuuri.

Yuuri glanced frantically at Mr Feltsman, unsure of what was happening.

Throughout this exchange, the producer had remained silent, eyes a scrutinizing gaze as he regarded Yuuri. The silence seemed to stretch for an eternity, until finally he leant forward, resting his chin on clasped hands. "Vitya is right, there is no need for any more questions. Mr Katsuki, you may take your leave now. We will get back to you with the results of your audition as soon as we have made a decision."

 _Oh_.

Yuuri swore he could hear the sound of his heart shattering. Oh God, he wanted to cry. Last night his mind had kept him awake, running through the worst case scenarios of an audition gone wrong. Even then, he never expected it to turn out worse than the last time. But this wasn't the place to mope. Mr Feltsman had turned away, fussing with something below the boundary of the screen. But Victor Nikiforov's gaze was fixed on his, head tilted to a side and an unreadable expression on his face. 

_He's probably waiting for you to get out of here._

Yuuri sighed inwardly, head lowered as he carefully exited the recording studio. He wanted to run, leave this building and never set foot in here again. But before he left he turned at the main door to the studio, bowing slightly at the two imposing figures, his parent's teachings of politeness far too ingrained in him.

He looked up just as he was about to shut the door. Yuuri had come here to audition, but he was still Victor Nikiforov's fan, and anyone who called themselves Victor Nikiforov's fan would never give up an opportunity to meet the man in person. But he wasn't expecting the small smile on the man's face, gaze turned soft as his smile widened by the smallest of fractions wider when his eyes locked with Yuuri's.

Even in rejection, Victor Nikiforov was still kind. With much effort, Yuuri forced a small smile. Then he shut the door and strolled down the hallway without turning back. 

When Sara saw him, her face lit up with joy, waving in greeting. But at the crestfallen expression on his face, her mouth promptly shut. She seemed at a loss for what to say as Yuuri handed her his temporary pass and waved goodbye with a small smile.

He couldn't do this anymore. He just wanted to go home, take a nice warm shower and scream into his pillow.  _That would be nice_ , he thought miserably as he exited the Grand Prix building. But then some strange, masochistic side of him screamed, and Yuuri turned to take in the building again. Just one hour ago he had strolled in with Phichit, arm in arm and so full of hope.

Sighing, Yuuri continued walking.

He should have known. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. It would take a miracle for him to even be considered by Yakov Feltsman, the very person notorious for turning auditionees down. And to think he thought he'd done well. Yuuri bit his lip at the familiar but unwanted sensation behind his eyes. 

He was not going to cry, not here, not now. Not when Yakov Feltsman and Victor Nikiforov were probably shoving his documents down the ban, not when he was in clear sight of the studio he'd just left. Victor had seen him cry once. He didn't need to again.

 _As if he would bother with you_ , a voice in his head taunted.

Yuuri ran a frustrated hand through his hair, pulling at the roots.

He just wanted to go home.

 

* * *

 

Phichit found him later that day, snuggled on the couch under layers of blanket, ice cream tub propped on his lap and the television screen blaring. But Yuuri wasn't really paying attention to the ongoing drama, nor was he eating the ice cream that had started to melt from the warmth from his hands.

Phichit took one look at him and said, "Not good?"  

Yuuri shook his head with a sigh. 

He watched as his friend pursed his lips, taking off his coat. Without out a word, he strolled over to Yuuri, pried the ice cream tub from his hands through the blanket and gently placed it on a nearby table. Then he all but tackled Yuuri onto the couch.

"Phichit!" Yuuri let out a whine of protest, laughing as he shoved Phichit away from his makeshift nest. "Let me mope in peace." He scrunched his nose, pulling up the blankets that had slipped down his shoulders.

"But Yuuri," Phichit drawled. "How can I call myself your best friend if I don't make sure this isn't your self-deprecating brain doing the talking!" Yuuri only rolled his eyes at that, turning away to look resolutely at the television screen. He ignored the incessant poking at his side, completely missing the sudden glint in his friend's eyes. Before he knew it, Phichit was ripping an opening in Yuuri's blanket burrito and forcing his way inside to huddle beside his friend. "Now you can't ignore me," he said with glee, leaning his entire body weight onto Yuuri until he finally relented.

"It was terrible," he said simply, concealing his disappointment with a casual shrug. "They didn't… like me. I was dismissed after singing a few songs, so terrible that they couldn't even bother keeping me around for the standard questions.”

Phichit frowned, looking like he was about to say something but the words died in his throat when suddenly incessant buzzing started sounding from the phone in his pocket. Yuuri turned away when he realized it was from his work phone, giving his friend some privacy.

There were times when it was strange how Phichit, his best friend and roommate, late nights of movies and jamming sessions, was also the same Phichit who was Stammi Vicino’s lead guitarist, and made a living out of sharing the same stage as the Victor Nikiforov. Not that Phichit wasn’t talented, hell Yuuri would fight anyone who dared claim Phichit wasn’t the best man for the job. But it was just… strange, how Yuuri was simultaneously so close yet distant from his idol. _Further than ever now_ , he thought bitterly, memories of the audition earlier that day flashing in his mind.

Before he could break that train of thought, the familiar weight of dread settled in his stomach, and Yuuri had to fight back the urge to cry. He couldn’t let Phichit know how upset he was, because despite Phichit being a few years younger, he had always adopted a strong protective streak towards his close friends. The worse thing that could happen was Yuuri being the cause of tension between Phichit and Victor, as much as he trusted Phichit to be professional.

“Work?” Yuuri asked noncommittedly, eager to occupy his mind with anything other than his recent failure.

“Not really,” Phichit replied. “Victor’s just spamming the group chat per usual.”

See, just like that. It was strange how Victor Nikiforov, legend of the music industry, Yuuri’s childhood idol and hit singer was also the same Victor who was, apparently, spamming the group chat that his best friend was in.

There was nothing really interesting showing at this time of the day, the television airing some soap opera that both of them were too busy to keep up with. Yuuri’s gaze wandered, taking in how Phichit’s thumbs were flying across his keypad, the sheer speed of his typing only matched by the person he was chatting with.

He only realized he was staring when Phichit broke the silence. “What you said about your audition… are you sure? You didn’t misread their intention or anything?”

Yuuri frowned. Where was this going? “Of course, why?” Then it struck him. Eyes narrowed, Yuuri leant over Phichit, squinting as he took in the name of the person Phichit was conversing with. “Is Victor Nikiforov telling you things?” He asked at last, the text boxes appearing and shifting up way too fast for him to catch a glimpse of that name.

Phichit smiled sheepishly and that was all the confirmation he needed. “Something like that,” he mumbled, stopping in his typing and putting his phone on the cushions, face down. “He seems to like you, Victor I mean.”

Perhaps in another time, Yuuri would kill to hear those words. But now, all Yuuri could do was blanch as his mind helpfully conjured up his conversation – could it even be counted one? – with the singer earlier that day. He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Of course he’d say that. He’s just trying to be nice, I mean, he knows we’re friends.”

“Doesn’t seem like he is,” Phichit countered easily, wildly grabbing for his phone as he kept his eyes on Yuuri, eyebrows furrowed. “You should see for yourself what he’s saying-“

“-No!” Yuuri all but screamed, straightening in his seat and waving his hands furiously. The blankets fell off his shoulders, bunching up around his waist. “You don’t have to make me feel better, Phichit,” he said hurriedly at the bewildered look on his friend’s face. “You know how he’s always nice to his fans, I bet this is just one of those instances. I mean, they were pretty curt in the studio and asked me to leave halfway through the audition, so there really is no point in him saying…” he gestured in the air, unable to find the words, “…whatever he’s saying now.”

When Yuuri finally looked at Phichit, his lips had drawn to form a small ‘o’, eyebrows knitted in confusion. Then that expression quickly morphed into what could only be sympathy and concern as the reality of Yuuri’s words trickled down. “It’s okay, Phichit!” He hurriedly said, before his friend could offer any words of consolation. He’d somehow messed up the audition, and it was fine, really. He could cope with rejection; that was the easy part. But Phichit trying to comfort him into thinking everything was fine? _That_ would be hard to take.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t really expecting anything out of it.”

That seemed to do the trick as the tension written on his face finally faded, leaving a small smile in its wake. “If you say so,” Phichit finally said, sighing in that familiar exasperated but fond manner. “We won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.” He tugged Yuuri back down onto the cushions and rearranged the blankets around them, smiling reassuredly all the way.

Phichit always knew what to say, when to push and pull and Yuuri was so, so thankful for his friend. From the corner of his eyes he caught Phichit silencing his phone and tossing it to the other end of the couch. Phone out of the way, he snuggled close, head resting on Yuuri’s shoulder as they let the sounds from the drama wash over them once again.

And if Phichit felt the wetness on his head, or the soft sound of sniffling in the air, he didn’t show it.

 

* * *

 

[Groupchat]  **stammi vicino (w/o yakov)**

 **Vic** :

phi!!!

why'd u disappear

come back 

so we can gush about your friend together

:(((((

**Mila:**

stop spamming the chat

**Vic:**

you'd spam too if you'd listened to him

he was  _amazing_

**Mila:**

some of us are trying to sleep victor!

**Vic:**

i wish i were there for the whole thing

yakov should have reminded me!!! >:(

**Georgi:**

you can't blame others for your forgetfulness, victor

yakov is old and a busy man

**Vic:**

Yakov told on me?

**Georgi:**

no, i guessed 

**Mila:**

GO TO SLEEP BOTH OF YOU

everyone else is alr sleeping 

 

[11min later]

**Mila:**

good

 

[1h23min later]

HDU victor!!!!

~~u made my boy cry~~

u made my boy sad (edited)

**Vic:**

???

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the first chapter, please comment kudo or subscribe! This is my first piece in a few years so any kind of support would mean the world to me :)
> 
> I've planned 5 major arcs and we're 1/4 through the first one! 10 is a rough estimate based on how much I managed to cover in the first chapter. Since the entire story has been planned, I can guarantee I won't be abandoning it. See you around!


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